


Solace in Silence

by MadMissMim



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Ed's Damn Guilt Complex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Libraries Rock!, M/M, NOT a songifc!, Post-Break Up, Roy's Got a Guilt Complex Too haha, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7411042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMissMim/pseuds/MadMissMim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed's always been worldly in a lot of ways, but also way too naive in many other ways. And, really, none of the painful struggles and hardships could have prepared Ed for the axe in the gut that is his first broken heart. (Loosely inspired by the song "Almost Lovers" by A Fine Frenzy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This little bit of whatever was inspired by a song called "Almost Lover" by A Fine Frenzy. This song is seriously depressing, but really beautiful all the same. Incidentally, I was listening to it at 4am and my fingers started moving of their own volition, and *poof* a new fic popped out. So, don’t blame me, blame the fingers (that and the incredible slowness with which my other fic’s final chapter is progressing – the damn thing is making me cuss more than Ed *GAH!*). Slight (very slight) AU, post-Promised Day, and obviously not in any way connected to my other (slow as an arthritic fucking snail!!!) fic.
> 
> Aside from that, I clearly don’t own FMA or any of its characters, etc. I’m not that cool. I just own this fic *sniffle*.

_"Did I make it that easy to walk right in and out of my life."_ – A Fine Frenzy "Almost Lover"

~~*~~

The toughest shells often conceal the softest centers. We know this in theory. It makes sense. The hard shell is protection for the center that is too soft for its own good. Being tough on the inside is its own protection, so a hard shell would just be overkill. When we try to apply this theory to people, our brains tend to skid off the road. We automatically think of all the tough and proud and seemingly indifferent people that we know and scoff at the possibility that beneath that impenetrable exterior beats a heart that's breaking with every breath. We can't imagine that their hail and hardy smile is actually dredged up from beneath a pile of secret misery, that every ostensibly cheerful word is just so much spackle on the crumbling wall that hides a well of seething anguish.

I figure it's gotta be something along those lines that caused this . . . _mess_ – that maybe he just couldn't conceive of what his hurtful words might do to me, how deep they'd cut. I hide my heartache like a champ. I bury all my guilt and insecurity beneath so much bullshit bravado that it would take some serious spelunking to see even a hint of it. In that way, I guess I was the author of my own downfall. I can't help but wonder if maybe he would have stayed if I had just let him in, let him know that underneath the façade I use to protect myself from the world is the same terrified, hurt, and remorseful child that he discovered all those years ago. But, in my defense, I thought he already knew. That's one of the reasons why I was with him. I thought he saw through my bullshit, the same way I thought I saw through his. Well, just because I'm a prodigy, doesn't mean I'm right all the time – but, damn it, when it comes to the important things, the really big things like this, I wish I was.

But, seriously, he's Roy fucking Mustang! He's the one who always plays it off like he knows what I'm up to even before I do. He acts like he knows everything all the damn time. Why didn't he know this? Why didn't he figure me out before it was too late? For that matter, why didn't I? I thought we had an understanding. I thought we were doing pretty well together. Sure, we never really properly defined our relationship, and hell only knows we couldn't announce it officially. The fact that it's a relationship between two men is bad enough in this day and age, but add to that the fact that he's my superior officer and fourteen years older than me – not to mention the fact that I've only recently just barely scooted past the legal age of consent – and it's sure to send the military that holds our leashes into an uproar. Things like reputation matter to Roy. He can't keep on trying to save the world if everybody thinks he's scum for sleeping with the youngest Major in the history of the military. People may smile and nod at his atrocious reputation as a womanizer, but after one look at his handsome face and entirely-too-sexy smirk it's easy to laugh that off as a given. However, his relationship with me – whatever it really was – wouldn't just push the envelope, it would take over the whole fucking mail room.

But, like I said, I never figured anything was really wrong with what we were doing. It started out as mutual attraction, and eventually evolved into deep affection . . . or so I thought. I feel I was justified to think so. He'd even said as much. I should have realized that all those gentle words, those sweet kisses and warm cradling arms, were just another mask. They arose in the heat of the moment only to cool once the storm had passed. Given how everything turned out, I'm glad I had never told him the truth . . . I kept those three most damning words locked away in my heart. If I had told him, I would have looked like an even bigger fool than I did already. Yeah, I'm the Fullmetal Alchemist, the great prodigy, the Alchemist of the People, blah, blah, blah, but not even I . . . not even I saw this con coming.

The most fucked up part about this whole thing, is that this was my very first relationship. I had always been too busy learning alchemy and researching the stone so I could bring my little brother's body back from beyond the Gate. Plus, I had to help the military clean up the bullshit mess they made of the country. There was hardly any time for sleep let alone romance. But after everything we went through on the Promised Day, after that hard, painful struggle yielded the end result I had put my whole childhood on hold to strive for, I decided that it was past time I learn what it's like to have a life. I wanted to finally reach for something that was for me alone. I should have known better. My sins aren't the kind that can be so easily swept aside with a bit of blood and a few tears. I should have known I hadn't atoned enough yet to deserve happiness. The fact that I still have to lug around two automail limbs should have been proof enough of that. Well, if I didn't know before, I sure as hell know now.

The question that haunts me the most now is how much longer will I have to pay for my sins before I can be at peace? Al's gone off to Xing to study Alkahestry. Winry's in Rush Valley perfecting her craft. I could have gone with either of them and finally left the military behind, but I stayed here, in Central. I stayed for him. I thought he might need me, and to be honest I'd been crushing on him for a long time, and thought I had a shot at making something work with him. I was so naïve. Now, I'm trapped, my hands tied by a silver chain, the silver pocket watch on the end of it pinning me in place. I don't have Roy or my brother or my best friend. I just have my unwanted military commission and the name and reputation I've grown to hate that marks me as the military's pet. Who knows? Maybe he actually slept with me just to convince me to stay. At this point, I wouldn't put anything past him.

My eyes sting constantly these days. I've been fighting back tears for days now, and so far it's a fight that I've won. But every day, it gets a little harder, the victory not as clear. Everybody knows that Edward Elric _doesn't_ cry. What they don't know is that it's not because I'm strong; it's because I'm scared of my own weakness. There's a heavy darkness building in my chest, yawning and hungry and desperate to devour me. The dark days after my mother's death gave birth to it, and it's been fed and nurtured by every hardship, every sin, every failure, every scrap of despair or hint of defeat. I know I can't let it win. I can't succumb to it, because I know that that way lies death. But it's hard, you know? No matter how hard I work, how many desperate fights I win, or how many impossible goals I achieve, in the end, I'm always the one to come out with nothing to show for it all but a few more scars and a deepening of the all-devouring darkness in my chest.

I'm getting so damn tired. I can barely drag myself out of bed these days. Food all tastes the same, so half the time I don't even bother with it. And every fucking time I have to walk into that office and listen to his flippant fucking tone as that smug-ass Bastard sits there like he has not a care in the god damn world, I just want to scream until my lungs collapse. But I don't. I can't. I can never let him see me flinch. I never let him see me fall. He gave up that right. It's almost better that he hasn't tried to show me any sympathy. If he did, I'd cave his fucking face in – hell, I may just do it anyway for shits and giggles. And every time I have to watch him flirt with whatever dumb girl that's caught his eye, or hear him chatting with the guys about his many conquests, I die a little more inside. So I run away. What else can I do? It's not like the Bastard has had any real missions for me lately, so I claim "research" and make myself scarce.

I spend as much time in the library as I can – not the main branch which holds bad memories despite being recently reconstructed, but rather the university library which has never been destroyed by homunculi nor represented shattered hope, and, most importantly, is not teeming with uptight State Alchemists. The quiet of the university library is soothing. I like listening to the soft rustle of pages turning, breathing in the scent of the dust and leather and old paper. I can almost feel the weight of that accumulated knowledge, and it grounds me, centers me, gives me something to cling to so I don't drown in the flood. Forget churches and Gods and angels and religions or whatever. _This_ is my temple. _This_ is my place of worship. It's my only sanctuary.

"Hey, aren't you that guy? That Alchemist for the People? Um . . . the _Fullmetal Alchemist_ or something, right?" asked a young man in a whisper, suddenly interrupting my fucking communion, the bastard.

Like all sanctuaries, this place has a downside. I've spent so much time here that everybody knows who I am. Yeah, I'm famous, I guess, but this is home for scholars, and they all know what a fucking miracle it is to pass the State Alchemist exam at twelve years old. Since I don't wear the red coat anymore, people in the outside world mostly don't recognize me – thank fucking heavens for that – but I have no such luck here. I may as well be wearing a sign on my neck and selling myself as a side-show exhibit. But since it's the library and nobody is allowed to shout or even talk above a whisper, their attention is easy to ignore – and if I get tired of them staring I can get myself a reading room and hole up like the mole I am.

"Yeah, so what?" I replied irritably. "What's it to you?"

"S-sorry . . . I-I-I mean . . . I didn't . . . I, um, I didn't mean to, um, interrupt your research," stammered the guy, his whole face turning beet red. I almost kind of felt sorry for the guy, so I let him off the hook and softened my expression a little before he had an aneurism or something. "I know you're probably really busy, Mr. Elric, sir, but you see . . . I, um, come here every day, pretty much. I'm a student at the university, you see – in the alchemy department." He does have that sort of university student look to him – tousle-haired, tired, and generally disheveled. He's not bad-looking though. He's got short but shaggy auburn hair and the biggest most guileless brown cow-eyes I've ever seen set in an olive-toned slightly rounded face. He gives an overall impression of "friendly". "I noticed you a while back . . . way before I knew who you are. 'Cause you come in here almost as much as me, but I never see you at the university, so I was kind of curious. Then I found out that you're _the_ Edward Elric. I heard you started alchemy pretty young, and I did too, so . . . I just figure you probably know how it is, being a young guy in an old man's field. Um, forgive me, if this is too forward, but um . . . would you be willing to . . . g-get coffee with me? And maybe, you know, talk shop? I don't get to meet many alchemists close to my own age, so . . . I don't know, I thought maybe . . ."

I'm not too macho to admit that I seriously gaped at him for what must have been a solid minute. Did this adorable, dopey looking stranger just ask me out? Did I really just hear that? Nobody's ever really flirted with me before, so I really don't have a frame of reference for "flirting". I mean, I get it _academically_ and thanks to Roy Rat-Bastard Mustang I've seen it plenty. I've just never been a target of it. And it's also entirely possible that this guy just wants to hang out as fellow alchemists and possibly friends. Either way, I couldn't find it in my heart to say no. I could really use some friendly conversation and I always love talking shop, I just don't get many chances to. Like he said, alchemy is an old man's field, and most of those geezers are either off their rockers or have no respect for me because of my age. I guess that's why, even in the depths of my current misery, I felt a faint stirring of excitement at the prospect of idly discussing alchemy with somebody close to my age – someone besides Al, that is.

"Sure," I said at last, viciously yanking my composure back in place. I dredged up a friendly smile for him – from where, I don't even know. "There's a café just up the street where I usually go relax when I need a break. They've got awesome pastries."

"Perfect!" exclaimed the guy, and he grinned like I'd just given him a brand new car. "I'm Leon, by the way, Leon Stanley," he said, offering me his hand to shake.

"Call me Ed," I told him, my smile turning fractionally more genuine. "Good to meet you." And, surprisingly, I meant it.

I gathered the books I had been reading, Leon grabbing half of them for me without prompting, and we carried them up to the desk for the librarian to hold for me like she always did. I offered the middle-aged woman a grin and a wave which, for some reason, always made her blush, then lead Leon toward the door. We stepped out into the bright sun and the softly lingering warmth of the early autumn day, squinting and grumbling about the blast of blinding brightness in our faces and yet thankful for it all the same. I knew that suddenly finding a new friend – or maybe something more? – wasn't going to mend my broken heart or pull me out of the bureaucratic prison that was my military career, but maybe it might at least make _today_ just a little bit better. It wasn't anything big, nothing all that life-changing, but, you know, it was still something _good_. And maybe that could be enough. Maybe I could _make_ it be enough. I had plenty enough bad shit floating around me, past and present, so I know how to appreciate a rare spot of goodness when it appears. I couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe there might still be a glimmer of hope for me after all. Stranger things have happened . . .

~~*~~

_"Goodbye my almost lover. Goodbye my hopeless dream. I'm trying not to think about you. Can't you just let me be? Goodbye my luckless romance. My back is turned on you. Should've known you'd bring me heartache. Almost lovers always do."_ – A Fine Frenzy "Almost Lover"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last I finally got around to finishing part two of this little drama. Unlike the first part, the second part is written in third person and from Roy's perspective instead of Ed's. Also, this second part was given birth to on one really bad night after I had listened to "Beggar's Prayer" by Emiliana Torrini. I don't know why, but I really like that song. So, once again, this is not a songfic. It just happens to be inspired by a song. Writing this thing has been so sporadic really, and I was starting to think I was never going to finish. Plus, I always feel guilty when I work on it, cuz I can hear my mom and my minion in the back of my mind clicking their tongues and shaking their heads cuz I'm not working on my novels, or my few but marvelous fans growling in frustration at the lack of chapters in my other fic. So I will offer up a mea culpa and a "ya know I love ya" with an adorable sheepish smile that makes me too cute not to forgive. I'll even bat my eyelashes (which is quite the sight cuz my eyelashes are like scary stupid ridiculously long - almost to the point it's cartoonish).

_"Lord, you just dropped me here by the side of this road. I'm just too cold and I don't want to walk it alone."_ – Emiliana Torrini "Beggar's Prayer"

~~*~~

Roy hated the quiet. He hated the continuous susurrus of shuffling papers and the endless turning of pages as he and his subordinates slogged through the never ending onslaught of paperwork. He used to love the quiet. It was peaceful. Soothing. But now . . . now it felt more like a slap in the face, a resounding accusation harsh enough to make him cringe. The reason for the quiet was that the one person who usually brought life and humor to the office was ostensibly absent, and lately, even when he was there he kept to himself and left as quickly as he could.

Roy knew it was all his fault. He had driven Ed away, so he had no one but himself to blame for the quiet that surrounded him. When he'd broken it off with the kid, he'd thought he was doing him a favor. Ed was too young to be committing himself to anyone yet, much less to his middle-aged commanding officer. Roy had tried to be gentle about it, but he'd still fully expected reprisal. He'd thought for sure that Ed would rage and rant and maybe even get revenge. But he hadn't. He'd been entirely . . . silent. He'd simply accepted it as if he'd known all along that it was coming and had already added it to his personal list of losses – like a man who already knew he was dying, and had only been waiting for the doctor to confirm it. It was eerie . . . and heartbreaking.

In a way, that acceptance had also been a slap in the face. It had told him without words that Ed had never expected anything out of Roy. He'd fully expected that Roy would one day turn his back on him. That lack of trust was painful to face, especially after everything they'd been through together. And yet it was entirely deserved. After all, hadn't he been right? Hadn't Roy done exactly what he'd thought he would do? He'd dropped the kid at the first sign of strengthening affections, just like he'd done to the dozens that came before him.

But what was it about this one that made it feel so wrong? He felt like he'd done something monstrous, and maybe he had. The kid had come to him without any experience in love or sex, and Roy had taught him every trick he knew. True, Ed had been innocent, but let it never be said that he wasn't willing to learn. Like the true prodigy he was, Ed had learned everything Roy had to teach and then extrapolated and theorized on his own. He'd taken every ounce of the fiery passion that he usually reserved for alchemy alone and poured it all into the pursuit of pleasure, almost as if he had set out on a new quest just as important to him as the restoration of his brother. And, really, that might have been exactly what he was doing. Edward had lost years of his life, first to the resurrection of his mother then to the reparation for the consequences of his mistakes. Maybe now he had finally decided to see what joys life had to offer. And what had Roy done? He'd turned it into another heartbreaking lesson on the unfairness of the world. Like Ed really needed another one of those.

Hawkeye had always warned him that his propensity for messing with fire would one day see him burned. Too bad she hadn't given the same warning to Ed, because, in the end, it was him that got burned. But that begged the question, was Roy really as unhurt as he'd been pretending? He'd talked a big game, sure. But was he really so completely untouched by cutting the kid loose? That was a question he wasn't quite sure how to answer. In truth, he missed Ed. They hadn't really been able to meet in public, and if they did it could never be as lovers. Mostly they just ate at Roy's house, or spent warm summer evenings out in his garden, or curled up under blankets in front of the fireplace to fend off the cold winter chill. They'd debate and joke and laugh and just be with each other, without judgments or reservations. Then as the evening drew to a close, they'd inevitably wind up in the bedroom, entwined in one another, both seeking and giving pleasure with the sort of single-minded focus and dedication that only a pair of alchemists could achieve. Really, if he was being entirely honest with himself, their weird little relationship had been like heaven, a safe-haven to shelter in.

Then why had he ended it? It certainly wasn't for the sake of his career. Sure, their relationship would be frowned on, but nobody would especially care all that much in the end. With all of the chaos blustering throughout the ranks of the military in the wake of the Promised Day, something as silly as fraternization would be all but ignored. Certainly Roy hadn't been concerned about Ed's career. Ed hated being in the military and would actually be thrilled to get kicked out. He hadn't been worried about either of their reputations. Roy already had a reputation for fluid morals when it came to sex, and Ed was everybody's favorite hero. There wasn't a single citizen of Amestris who hadn't heard of the Alchemist of the People. Ed could go on a rampage and destroy half of Central and still be everybody's darling. It would take a lot more than a risqué relationship to tarnish Ed's reputation.

So why? Roy knew, in his most secret heart, exactly why he had ended a seemingly ideal relationship. He'd been scared. He'd begun to care for the boy entirely too much. He'd begun to wonder things like what it would be like if they moved in together, and what Ed would think about making their relationship official. He'd been afraid of finding out the answers to his many questions. He'd been afraid of rejection – or, worse, acceptance. Really, it was the first time he'd even _considered_ becoming serious with any of his lovers, and he'd done what any human would do when faced with the unknown, he'd recoiled in fear and retreated to a place of safety. Now, because he'd been a coward, he was left with only the empty silence that had once been filled with a golden-haired firecracker with eyes that could set fire to the blood in his veins with a single look. More than anything, Roy missed that fire and the warmth it had brought with it.

Giving up on even _trying_ to get any work done, Roy pleaded with Lieutenant Hawkeye to let him off the hook. She must have seen something of his misery in his eyes, because it didn't take much effort to convince her. Roy pulled on his coat and headed out into the dying light of the late afternoon. The cool wind felt refreshing after the stuffiness of the office, so he decided that it was a perfect day for walking home – and maybe the long walk would help him settle his mind a bit. As he walked, he made sure to return the greetings of those who knew him well enough to wave, but otherwise he kept to himself, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. He found his feet carrying him past the library where he knew Ed to be hiding and cast a longing look at those double-doors, as if trying to will them to release a certain golden-haired alchemist.

With a heavy sigh, Roy turned away and continued walking. He didn't get far from the library when he spotted that oh-so-familiar color, a halcyon waterfall down a well-muscled back, the color set ablaze by the bleeding hues of the setting sun. As ever, Edward was nothing less than breathtaking. Even in this modest café setting, he stood out as something . . . _other_. He was so vibrant and beautiful, so overflowing with passion and drive, that he was like a storybook character come to life. He was sitting at his ease at one of the café's outdoor tables, talking animatedly with an unassuming young man who appeared to be close to his own age. The young man's eyes glittered with interest – though whether it was interest in the conversational topic or Edward was less clear.

Roy felt a bitter surge of jealousy burst through him, and he almost stomped over to the table. But then he saw Edward laugh, his gold eyes bright and dancing with good humor as they hadn't done in weeks – _not since the break-up_ the thought of which replaced the jealousy with devastating guilt. How could Roy deny Ed this chance to find some measure of joy, of peace, after Roy had so ruthlessly crushed the boy's heart? Roy wasn't exactly known for his compassion – ostensibly anyway – but he was not so callous that he would drive away the first person to make Ed laugh again.

However, that didn't mean he wasn't petty enough to at least introduce himself to the young man. He had made peace with his own possessive and overly protective nature years ago, so generally he knew better than to fight those urges. He wanted to make sure that this young man wasn't going to hurt Edward – that he's _worthy_ of Edward who deserved to have the world placed at his feet. "Good afternoon, Fullmetal. Aren't you still on the clock?" greeted Roy, sounding far more cheerful than he felt.

"Aren't you still supposed to be chained to your desk Bastard," growled Ed in response, as he rose and gave Roy a half-hearted, mostly sarcastic salute. "What bullshit excuse did you give Hawkeye to con her into letting you off your leash while the sun's still up?"

"Touché," said Roy, saluting back to release Ed to reclaim his seat. "Who's your friend?"

Ed tensed and let out a tiny hiss as if he had just received a glancing blow. "Roy, this is Leon Stanley. He's a student of the university in the alchemy department," Ed offered grudgingly. "Leon, this is my commanding officer, Brigadier General Roy Mustang. And before you ask, yes, he's the Flame Alchemist."

"Oh-oh my," said Leon as if suddenly awestruck. "Oh dear, it's an honor to meet you, sir. Maybe you can settle a debate for us . . . oh, no, never mind, you're probably busy right now. I wouldn't want to presume or anything."

"No, it's fine," said Roy, understanding right away what had drawn Ed to this kid. Leon Stanley was very much like Al. "I can spare some time – if Fullmetal doesn't mind me intruding."

"As long as you quit calling me Fullmetal, asshole," grumbled Edward. "You're off the damn clock. Leave the formalities for HQ."

"You don't even bring them to HQ, so there's nothing to leave behind," teased Roy. "I was actually a little shocked you saluted. It's been a while."

"I'll be careful to avoid it in the future old man. Wouldn't want the shock to cause you heart failure," snorted Ed, the flavor of their old banter sweetening the air and melting the cold that had crept into Roy's veins with Ed's absence. "I don't really care if you stick around, Bastard. Take a seat or don't. It's your call. Far be it for me to tell his nibs where to plant his ass."

"Are you two always like this?" Leon whispered to Edward, and Edward laughed.

"If we aren't that's when you know something's wrong," Ed told him, his eyes glittering.

"But isn't he your boss?" asked Leon nervously.

"Yep, but I haven't shown respect to this bastard since our first conversation when I was 11," Ed explained, giving Roy a piercing glare. "He's been nothing but a snarky jackass ever since. He's a little too good at getting what he wants. Dealing with him is a bit like getting sand in my underwear – intrusive, persistent, and always rubbing me the wrong way. And anyway, he's the one who conned me into becoming a State Alchemist in the first damn place. So, all the hair-raising hero stories are entirely his fucking fault."

"Hey, I just give you the missions," said Roy in his defense. "I point you in the right direction. Where you go after that is entirely up to you. Believe me, if I never see another invoice for a blown up building or destroyed religious or political monument it will be too soon."

"Oi! I usually fix what I break!" protested Ed, and it was Roy's turn to laugh.

"Yes, you do, and I still have to pay to remove whatever weird embellishments you decide to add to whatever you fix," Roy rebutted. "I'll admit, your sense of style has improved somewhat from when you were younger, but it's still got a long way to go before it can be considered anything but tacky."

"You know what? Next time, fix it yourself. I'm not a repairman," said Ed stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest. "And there's nothing wrong with my taste. It's your taste that's lacking. And have you even _seen_ Halling's inn? It's a work of fucking art! I wasn't even the one who destroyed it, but I put back every brick and timber exactly the way it was before. Do you have any idea how fucking hard that was? I'm just lucky I didn't have to draw all the arrays by hand. I'd _still_ be there fixing that damn building. Really, you're damn lucky to have me."

"True," admitted Roy with uncharacteristic kindness. "Despite your fondness for destruction of public property, you generally do the work of ten alchemists."

"Damn straight," snorted Ed, wrapping his bravado tightly around himself. Roy knew, as few other people knew, that all his brash boldness was nothing more than a defense mechanism, his way of protecting himself when he was hurt or afraid or uncertain. "I haven't had any missions in a while though. Maybe you could finally give me some damn vacation time so I don't gotta wake up at the ass crack of dawn to go into the office and stare at the walls – or worse, watch _you_ stare at the walls."

"I don't stare at the walls," Roy said with mock-incredulity. "I stare at endless piles of paperwork – and doodles, lots and lots of doodles. You know, I think I've gotten quite good at drawing. Maybe I should retire and become an artist."

"You're a disgrace to alchemists everywhere," said Ed dryly. "How did you ever become an alchemist if you couldn't draw well?"

"Hey, I draw _arrays_ just fine," said Roy with a shrug. "It's everything else that's less than stellar. And, really, you have absolutely no room to talk. I've seen you try to draw things other than arrays. Elysia is a better artist, and she's 10."

"I hate you," said Edward, deadpan.

"No you don't," said Roy, his tone joking but his heart knowing – or maybe just desperately hoping – that his words were true. Ed could never hate him, though it would probably be easier for Ed if he did. But Ed never did things the easy way.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I do," growled Ed. "In fact, I'm pretty sure nobody likes your lazy ass. You're lucky enough to have a few people willing to put up with your shit."

"True enough," said Roy with a sigh. "But what's this debate you boys are having?"

"We were discussing safe methods of energy dispersion – like when you're dissipating heat in a focused explosion so that you blow the lock but not the whole building," explained Ed, the last part delivered dryly and startling a laugh out of Roy. "Yes, before you ask, Bastard, I do know how to avoid blowing up the whole damn building. Please stay on point."

They actually had a pleasant chat, the three of them enjoying the opportunity to stretch their mental legs. Alchemists were fairly solitary by nature, so getting a chance to spend a couple hours debating alchemy's many merits and pitfalls with two intelligent young alchemists was a rare treat. Roy often lost sight of how amazing alchemy could be, his innate wonder and passionate curiosity ground down and buried by the military machine. Years of war had taken all the joy out of alchemy for him until he could only see it as a weapon to be wielded to harm others – or oneself. And then he met Edward. That boy had shown him true wonders without losing sight of the dangers and the lethal lessons he'd already learned. He'd been beat down by misused alchemy, same as Roy, but the difference was that Edward had refused to stay beaten, and by getting back up again and again he'd taught Roy the true meaning of resolve.

Their discussion was abruptly interrupted by the loud arrival of a gentleman whose young lady had been waiting for him at a nearby table. The young man showed up with an enormous – and obviously expensive – bouquet of red long-stemmed roses, and she squealed and cried at the sight of them, hugging and kissing him awkwardly around the huge bundle of flowers. Leon, for the most part ignored the couple, but Roy and Edward were both transfixed, each for his own reasons.

"What is it about roses that makes them so evocative?" mused Roy aloud. "I can't think of anybody who doesn't like them, either aesthetically or symbolically. Giving roses is supposed to be considered a romantic gesture, a sign of love – but I've always felt they send a bit of a mixed message. Think of it . . . you're giving somebody something that's beautiful on the surface, but thorny further down. What kind of signal is that meant to send?"

"It's about longing," said Edward, and Roy looked at him in shock. It wasn't the sort of subject he would expect Ed to have an opinion on, and especially not an unscientific one. "When you see a rose, you see the beauty of its color, the softness of its petals. It almost seems to invite you to touch it, but if you try, it will cut you and make you bleed. Even if you grasp it by the softer portion, it disintegrates in your hand, bruising and falling apart entirely too easily. Roses, like dreams, aren't meant to be grasped. They're meant to be admired, to be longed for, but never held. Their nature is the longing for something as beautiful as it is untouchable." Edward let out a soft, forlorn little sigh and finally turned his hungry gaze away from the couple. "Just like the human heart."

And with that one sentence, Roy's heart all but shattered. What had he done to this bright, beautiful boy? "I'm sure not all hearts are untouchable," ventured Roy tentatively.

"Oh, no, there's no doubt in my mind," said Ed coldly, his eyes becoming as dead as they had been the first time Roy met Edward. "Either they're too soft to grasp without destroying them or they're so hard they cut you when you grip them. Hearts, like roses, aren't meant to be held, ony admired from a distance."

"So this is the one?" asked Leon suddenly with a knowing but sad smile. Ed met his eyes squarely and nodded slowly.

"Yep, in a nutshell," replied Ed, apparently understanding what the young man had meant without needing to ask for clarification. "And like I said, some days are easier than others. Today hasn't been one of the easy days. But I'm sure the easy days will increase as time goes by."

"That's the running theory anyway," Leon said with a shrug. "But, I've come to find that, as with most things in life, the result is subjective rather than objective. How long it actually takes for the initial sting to fade depends on the extent of the prior circumstance. The usual measurements still apply – height, breadth, width, weight, each applying its own conditions and parameters."

"Thanks, that was stunningly unhelpful," intoned Edward dryly, and Leon let out an abrupt bark of laughter.

"It wasn't meant to be helpful," said Leon with a bright laugh, but then his eyes turned very serious, locking on Edward's squarely again. "But this next bit is. If you don't like something about your life, change it. If it can't be changed, let it go. But you can't change anything without effort. 'Doing nothing earns you nothing.' You're the one who told me that. Take your own advice Ed. Just like my situation, the risk is proportionate to the gain. I'll see you tomorrow. Tell me how it goes. Good luck!"

"You too, Leon," said Ed with a fond, if sorrowful, smile as the student got to his feet and headed off in the direction of the university.

"So, where'd you pick up such a cute kid, eh?" asked Roy, fixing his default smirk firmly in place and keeping his tone as casual as possible.

"First off, he's not a kid. He's the same age as me. In the eyes of the law, we're adults now. Second off, if you even hint at trying to pick him up like one of your floozies, I swear I will feed you your balls through a straw," growled Ed heatedly. "He's a good kid, and I won't have you fucking him over."

"And what makes you so sure that's my intention," asked Roy, just barely keeping his tone in check. In truth he was both offended and more than a little hurt by the implication that Ed thought so little of his integrity.

"You've given me no reason to think otherwise," replied Ed evenly. "Look, it's great catching up and all, but I should get back to work."

"Ed, it's already after work hours," pointed out Roy. The sun, which had only just begun to set when Roy had left the office, was now little more than a rust-colored afterthought in the darkening. "You should go home and get some rest. You look tired."

"Not gonna happen," ground out Ed as he got to his feet, and before Roy could react, Ed had begun stomping away in the direction of the library.

"Wait! Damn it, Ed!" called Roy, frantically scrambling to catch up, though he had no idea what he was going to do when he actually caught the younger man. And yet, as soon as Roy was close enough, he reached out and grabbed hold of Ed's wrist as if his hand had a mind of its own. "Wait, _please_ . . . Edward, look, I know you're upset–"

"Excuse me?" asked Ed in a low, dangerous voice as fiery, rage-filled golden eyes slowly turned to lock onto Roy. Caught beneath that merciless gaze, Roy felt like shrinking away like the coward he was. "Do you have any idea what my life is like now? Do you have even the least inkling of how it feels to have sacrificed everything in order to stick around for somebody who can't be bothered to return the fucking favor?! Do you?! I could have been in Xing studying Alkahestry with my brother or in Rush Valley hanging out with Winry and Garfiel or, hell, even in Resembool helpin' out Granny Pinako – _anywhere_ but here! But no, I let them all leave me behind so I could try to have something for myself for once in my miserable life only to lose it just when things were getting good! So, _yeah_ , I guess you could say I'm a little fucking upset!"

Ed was so angry that his face was red and his chest was heaving, his eyes all but aflame with the heat of his pure, unadulterated fury. But despite the irrefutable and impossible to ignore rage, there was also something else in Ed's eyes that stabbed Roy in the gut – as if Ed's words hadn't gutted Roy enough. And the closer he looked, the more obvious it became – _pain_. No, not just "pain", but honest-to-goodness _agony_. "Don't you look at me like that Roy Mustang! Don't fucking dare!" snarled Ed, breaking into Roy's thoughts. "You don't have the right."

"Ed, please . . . I-I'm sorry," said Roy, almost as surprised as Edward by his own strangled whisper. "I didn't mean . . ." Roy took a deep breath in and let it out as a shaky sigh. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I was just . . . I was scared, all right?" Ed looked honestly aghast, but at least he had stopped trying to get away. "I've never had anything good that didn't either fall apart or get taken away. I didn't want to get in any deeper only to have to watch you walk away when you came to your senses. I just . . . didn't want to get hurt. So, to avoid that I tried to run away and ended up hurting both of us." Now Ed paled, growing so still that Roy wondered if he was holding his breath. "And before you say anything, Ed, yes I've been hurting too. It never showed, but it was always there. No matter how hard I tried to shove it away or deny it, it's always there. I'm just a lot better at putting up a front than you are. I've had fourteen extra years of practice at it."

"What are you trying to say?" asked Ed, his voice steady and yet something in his eyes just seemed so . . . broken.

"I'm saying . . ." Roy stopped for a moment and forced himself to breathe, to meet that broken gaze without flinching. The agony of seeing that damage was the least of what Roy deserved for what he had done. It was time for a reckoning. "I'm saying that I miss you. I'm saying that leaving was the dumbest thing I ever could have done. I'm a coward, and I don't deserve your forgiveness, so I won't ask for it. But I would like you to give me another chance. No games this time, no bull shit. We'll probably always have to be discreet, and I know it'll be hard. We'll butt heads plenty, we'll mess up and fight and forgive again and again, but I think . . . I _believe_ that what we'll gain is more than worth the sacrifice."

"Are you sure . . . ?" asked Ed softly, his eyes wide and wary as if he hardly dared to believe what he was hearing. "You have to be sure this time Roy – and I mean really, _really_ sure – because I can't take you leaving again. I can't do it. It almost killed me this time. It _will_ kill me next time. I've lost so much in my life. I can't bear adding you to that list."

"I understand," replied Roy, just as softly. He suddenly yanked Ed forward so that the younger man stumbled into him, and as soon as Ed was close, Roy wrapped his arms around him as tightly as he could. He didn't care that they were out in public. He didn't care that people were probably staring at them. This was his lifeline, and to let it go would be to let go of life. "Losing you is not a torture I'm eager to repeat," he whispered, burying his face in that messy golden mane and just breathing him in, the scent of old leather and machine oil and . . . sunlight. Ed said nothing, simply burying his face in Roy's chest as his whole body trembled. Roy was shaken by the feeling of moisture soaking into the front of his shirt. Ed never cried – for any reason. It was almost like he didn't know how anymore. Roy felt, however that it would be too cruel to call attention to it, so he stayed silent and let Ed hang onto what dignity he had left. "I love you and I should never have let you go. Let's go home."

Ed looked up, his golden eyes red-rimmed and his red cheeks shimmering with ruddy glow of the sunset reflected on the traces of his tears. With the pad of his thumb, Roy gently brushed away the moisture on Ed's cheeks, marveling at the disheveled magnificence of the boy in his arms. He found himself holding his breath as he waited for Ed's response, his eyes locked on those petal soft lips. Roy didn't believe in God anymore than Ed did, but damn it if he wasn't praying now. "Yeah, I love you too. Always did," said Edward hoarsely. And there it was, Roy's redemption, a small but miraculous smile curving Ed's lips that was all the salvation he would ever need. "Let's go home."

~~*~~

_"Mama said lift your head from the sieve of your hands. Mama say eventually this hurting will end."_ – Emiliana Torrini "Beggar's Prayer"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone would like to see an epilogue or even see this become a full-blown multi-chapter story let me know. I've been branching out into other fandoms on a dare (my fellow nerds are trying o force me out of my literary comfort zone, the bastards, so they issued a challenge, threw down the gauntlet by giving me insane parameters and requirements, and set a horrendous penalty for failure) plus I'm still working on the sequel to my first fic as well as my novels so it might be a little while, but it'll get done eventually, I promise! ^_^


End file.
